Page 66 of The Sword & the Stone

A group of dancers twirled past us, their bodies painted with intricate swirling patterns that seemed to shift on their skin. Their wings fluttered and gleamed, and it got me thinking.

“Do any of you have wings?” I asked, my eyes meeting Tristan’s.

Tristan's nod was easy, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes shining brighter than I've ever seen. "All the Sidhe fae have the power to manifest wings. It's a natural aspect of our magic. Some lower fae who have the blood of other creatures can also have wings, horns, claws, or tails; it all depends on which kind of creature their ancestors mated with."

I leaned forward, intrigued. "Even me? I'm only half fae." The other half, I had no realistic idea. Was I a druid? Or was I human?

Tristan nodded, popping a ripe berry into his mouth. "Even you. Your magic is still young and untrained, but it's there, waiting to be awakened when you’re ready."

The thought sent a thrill through me. I glanced up at the sky, imagining what it would feel like to soar through the clouds.

Lancelot must have seen the longing in my eyes, because he chuckled, his golden hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head. "Don't get any ideas. Flying takes years of practice to master. We wouldn't want you plummeting to the ground on your first attempt. Trust me, we’ve all been there."

I huffed, taking a sip of my wine. The rich liquid warmed me from the inside out. "True, but I'm a quick study. I want to seeyourwings."

The wine was getting to my head already, and I felt lighter than I had since before the quest began, and I wanted to stay on this high.

Lancelot's cheeks reddened, but he pushed himself to his feet. His tanned skin gleamed with runes, and I took a moment to appreciate the rugged ripple of his warrior’s muscles. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and the air around him began to shimmer and pulse with an otherworldly energy.

Then, with a sudden burst of power that sent a gust of wind swirling around us, Lancelot's wings unfurled from his back, stretching out to their full, magnificent span. They were unlike anything I had ever seen.

Each wing section looked like it was made of glass. They gleamed, run through with fissures of burnished gold, catching the flickering light of the bonfires. I stood, passing my cup to Merlin, trying to get a better look at them. I reached out to touch one, and Lancelot sucked in a sharp breath as I made contact.

Though it looked like glass, it felt like steel. Heavy, sharp, and thick. They were shaped roughly like insect wings, and their wingspan was double that of Lancelot’s height. I suppose that made sense, since they were supposed to have the power to lift his heavy body into the air.

Still, it was hard to fathom how these massive glass-like appendages just…existed somewhere inside of him. My back prickled with the thought, and suddenly I wondered if a similar pair were lurking under my skin.

What caught my eye next were the sharp, wicked-looking hooks crowning the top of each wing near the spine, curved and deadly. They gleamed like polished gold, and sharp enough to pierce flesh easily.

Percival rose next, shadows dancing at his feet as he stepped forward. With a roll of his broad shoulders, his wings unfurled like a cloak of midnight. They were as dark as a starless sky, made of undulating smoky wisps in the shape of wings. I reached a hand out and sifted my fingers through the wisps, and Percy rolled his shoulders at the contact, his jaw tensing, but his eyes were full of desire.

"Show off," Gawain muttered, but there was a hint of admiration in his voice. He stood, his lean but muscular frame tensing as he called forth his own wings. They burst forth in a flurry of icy crystals, each one catching the light like a prism. The wings were a stunning glacial blue, shot through with veins of pure white. The edges looked sharp enough to cut through diamond.

Galahad grinned as he stepped up. "My turn, lads." His wings unfurled in a rustle of autumn colored feathers, a rich tapestry of golds, oranges, and deep reds. They were the wings of a griffin, or a massive hawk, and they looked powerful.

Tristan was the last to rise, his silver hair gleaming in the firelight. When his wings came out, my jaw dropped in awe.They were dragon wings… or something like it, but the color of moonstones. The tips of his wings were adorned with delicate silver filigree, in intricate patterns. They were massive and terrifying, but beautiful.

"Always have to make an entrance, don't you?" Gawain teased, his icy wings fluttering behind him. "It’s not how pretty the wings are, it’s how you use ‘em."

Tristan smirked. "You're only jealous because those icy monstrosities of yours could put someone's eye out."

Gawain clutched his chest in mock offense, his other hand reaching back to stroke the razor-sharp edges of his wings. "I'll have you know these 'monstrosities' are a work of art. Deadly and beautiful, just like their owner."

A chorus of groans sounded out from the rest of the men as they tucked away their wings and plopped back down on the cushions. I winked at Gawain and said, “I’m sure they’re very deadly.”

He grinned back, tucking them away with flourish, puffing out his broad chest. “See? The lady agrees.”

“What I’d like to know,” I asked, narrowing my eyes around the circle of knights, “Is why none of you thought to use your wings when we were standing at the foot of Dead Man’s Path.”

“We’re here to protect you and guide you through each challenge. But ultimately, it’s you who has to face them alone,” Tristan said.

I frowned. “But why not just fly me across? That’d be faster and safer. We could have avoided the stone guardians altogether.”

Galahad shook his head. “It’s not about speed. Each challenge is crafted to test something different about you—your bravery, your cleverness, your kindness. They’re meant to test you, and make sure that you’re worthy of the Holy Grail.”

“Think of it as a rite of passage,” Lancelot chimed in. “It’s not easy, but if you can beat the trials and win the Grail, then Uther has no reason to deny you your crown. If you cheat, then you don’t deserve it. You’d be no better than Mordred.”

I sighed and leaned back against the soft cushions. The wine had me feeling warm and relaxed, and the distant music wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. I waved the men off and plucked a grape from Merlin’s hand. “I regret asking. Please just smother me in lies and flowery promises, not logic…”

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